<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Piece of Heaven by Isabelle Hemlock (isabelle_hemlock)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184691">Piece of Heaven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelle_hemlock/pseuds/Isabelle%20Hemlock'>Isabelle Hemlock (isabelle_hemlock)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But in general handled very affirmingly, Catholic, M/M, Modern AU, Religion, Religion positive, Some Catholic guilt related to leaving the priesthood, adorkable Nicky abounds, joe is a gentleman, scholar!joe, seminarian!Nicky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:22:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,380</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28184691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelle_hemlock/pseuds/Isabelle%20Hemlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, seminarian Nicky, meets local post grad student, Joe.<br/>And it’s as adorable as it sounds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Old Guard Gift Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Piece of Heaven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amekakushi">Amekakushi</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, this is Joe and Nicky having Modern AU meet cute, based on the fantastic art by Miss Ame, which you can find <a href="https://amekakushi.tumblr.com/post/636862988211650560">here.</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicky had just finished tidying things up in the sacristy after the tour hour passed. </p>
<p>Once he gave the room a quick glance over, he reached for the keys to lock up the small country church, before planning on swinging by the store to pick up a late dinner.</p>
<p>He was in his final year of seminary, and had begun his transitional year of being a deacon, before he was to be ordained the following spring.  He had already done plenty of pastoral work in his training in the last several years of his education, but he had usually been paired with someone as he floated from one assignment to the next.  Overseeing tours of the building by himself, where he was expected to stand in front of people and talk, was the perfect practice for the expectations his spiritual director had for him.  </p>
<p>Out of all the things to be concerned about when it came to priesthood, getting over his fear of talking to crowds felt like the most pressing issue to address.  And so he had been assigned to the country church that was registered with the local historical society, and gave short tours once a week to anyone who showed up.  </p>
<p>Nicky relished in the fact that he had yet to actually lead one.  </p>
<p>He usually ended up sitting in the pews, either spending time in front of the Tabernacle for his prayers of the Liturgy of Hours, or even just enjoying the quiet, and catching up on his studies.  One of the things he relished in his faith, was the general encouragement of silence - sometimes the overlapping voices of seminary felt a little overwhelming.  </p>
<p>He had just passed the altar rails, and onto the cold stone floor of the nave, when he realized someone was at the end of the church - standing near the stained glass window just inside the front double doors.<br/><br/>He paused, because frankly he was stunned to actually see anyone after weeks of no visitors to the rural little building, but also because the stranger made quite the striking vision.</p>
<p>The sun was setting on the cold fall evening, but it bathed the church with beautiful colors, as the light filtered through the stained glass windows.  And with the man standing directly in front of one, warm tones of blues and reds washed over his tanned skin.  He was looking up at the image, a wonderful rendition of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary (though Nicky could admit he was likely biased in his opinions when it came to her), before he raised a gloved hand to his glasses.<br/><br/>He resettled them over the abundance of curls on top of his head, and leaned a little closer, as if trying to inspect the image more thoroughly.  But it was the way he bit his bottom lip, that made Nicky finally realize just how intently he had been staring, because he could feel his fingers flexing against his palms.  Grateful this man hadn’t noticed him yet, he pushed through his embarrassment, and reminded himself that he was supposed to be a welcoming presence to all who walked through the door - not <em> gawk </em> at them as if <em> they </em> were a work of art.<br/><br/>The man had just pulled out a sketch pad, and was quietly tapping the blank paper, by the time he noticed Nicky approaching. <br/><br/>He immediately flashed him a warm smile that almost made Nicky’s cheeks flush,  In fact, he almost stopped walking towards him - as if he already felt like he should head in the other direction.  Away from the temptation that was now greeting him with an equally stunning accent that he assumed was middle eastern, “Oh - <em> hi </em> , did I miss the tour?”<br/><br/>Nicky had paused about three pews away from him, and still it felt like this man's words slammed into him.  Not only with how beautiful his voice sounded, but also because he might be expected to speak, <em> at length </em> , with the stranger.  He blinked a few times, trying to swirl any coherent sentence together before mustering something akin to a nervous stutter, “Uh - <em> oh </em> um, it just ended actually -”<br/><br/>And then he closed his mouth, because he was pretty sure his own voice cracked at the last word and he was downright flustered at how undone he was feeling in this man’s presence.  He always knew he struggled with same sex attraction, his spiritual directors knew it, too.  But everyone agreed it was a moot point, so long he continued to focus on his vow of celibacy.  And really, Nicky truly believed God had done him a favor a while ago when the feelings would fade fairly quickly - before he could act on them.<br/><br/>But this felt different.  He had to fight the urge to lean closer . . .   </p>
<p>“Oh shoot, I must have written the time down wrong, I’m sorry,” the man chuckled as if <em> he </em> was now the one slightly embarrassed.  But unlike Nicky, who felt embarrassment with a high heart rate, and sweat already gathering at his hairline - this man seemed to do it with a melodic laugh, and casual write off, “My days are sort of bleeding together during finals - I can come back next week.”   </p>
<p>He closed his sketchpad, placing the pencil in the binding, and Nicky <em> should </em> have let him leave.  Maybe he could even ask another seminarian to stop by with him next week . . . <em> but - </em> he <em> did </em> need the practice of being able to talk to anybody who walked through the church doors.  And - in a part of his heart that he couldn’t even yet acknowledge - he <em> wanted </em> to talk to this man.  He just prayed his voice didn’t sound nervous when he took a small step closer, “I - I can stay and give you a tour.  I mean, if you’d like that is.”<br/><br/>The man’s dark eyes reminded him of obsidian gems, and he tried to look at the frame of his glasses instead, fearing he might just get distracted if he stared too long . . .<br/><br/>His smile broadened, and Nicky felt himself starting to smile as well - before the stranger replied casually, “That’s really kind of you Father -”  He paused, as if suddenly realizing he didn’t know his name - not that it really mattered.  Addressing a priest simply as ‘Father’ was more than appropriate, “oh I forgot to ask your name, sorry.”  </p>
<p>Even though he normally sought the title, that end goal that was<em> just </em> out of reach - Nicky felt himself flinching a little, like somehow it sounded grating to hear <em> this </em> man address him <em> that </em> way, “I uh - I’m just a deacon right now, next year I’ll be -”  He pointed towards his collar, hoping his fingers didn’t look as shaky as they felt, “I know the cassock kind of throws people off - um.”   </p>
<p>Gosh, he sounded like a raw bundle of nerves.  How was he ever going to lead a flock, when he could barely talk to one man?  <em> A gorgeous man </em> , his mind immediately countered.  Who even now, seemed to be studying him a bit.  And at first Nicky felt like he was being a little <em> too </em> looked at, and his heart was beating faster at the possibility - . . . then he realized he had still failed to answer his question.  His shoulders slumped slightly and he wanted to shake himself for thinking this man might have been staring at him, “Right now it’s Nicky.  Just Nicky.”</p>
<p>Without missing a beat, the man extended his gloved hand, and grinned - a smile that reached all the way to his eyes, “Well <em> just </em> Nicky, I’m <em> just </em> Joe - nice to meet you.” </p>
<p>Nicky slowly raised his own hand, but his sole focus was struck by the way the skin around the edges of his eyes crinkled, quite distracted by it in fact, until Joe let go of his hand first.  He adjusted his glasses over the bridge of his nose, and sort of tipped his chin close to his chest, as if he was unsure about asking something . . . not realizing how easily he could have asked Nicky <em> anything </em> at this point - “to be perfectly honest, if I am getting a personal tour - I’d love to hear more about this stained glass window here.”</p>
<p>He didn’t have to follow Joe’s line of sight to realize which one he was looking at.  He knew it even from afar, and it was the same one that bathed his warm skin in beautiful colors when he had first spotted him.  If Joe suspected Nicky was staring at his profile, he didn't acknowledge it, merely kept his eyes on the stained glass window, “I wanted to include a little bit about this beautiful piece in my dissertation, and would appreciate any insight you might have about its history.”<br/><br/>Nicky should have just given him the standard tour knowledge, not asked for more personal information, but he felt a strong urge to know more about him and couldn’t seem to help himself, “What’s your dissertation about?”<br/><br/>Joe chuckled, and glanced at him with smirk, which did absolutely nothing for the heat Nicky felt creeping up the back of his neck, “Might sound a little on the nose standing here with a pri-”  He stopped himself, and tilted his head, “Sorry, <em> deacon </em> .”<br/><br/>At that point, Joe could have probably called him pretty much anything, and Nicky would have still nodded as absentmindedly as he was doing just then.  He clutched the sketchpad between both his hands now, balanced in front of his open jacket and turned a little more towards him, “I haven’t titled it yet - but it’s basically about interfaith ministry and open dialogues between Catholics and Muslims.”<br/><br/>Nicky’s eyes widened a little, and he hoped Joe wouldn’t mind him inquiring, “Oh, are you a Muslim?”<br/><br/>Joe leaned against the edge of the pew, seemingly relaxed even with Nicky’s nervous fidgeting of his flexing hands by his side, “You couldn’t tell?”<br/><br/>Nicky was pretty certain he heard a teasing tone in voice, but erring on the side of caution he answered seriously, “I - I wouldn’t presume to base an assumption about someone by the way they look.”<br/><br/>He laughed in a way that made his shoulders bounce slightly, a deep sort of belly laugh, and Nicky stood there unsure why that reply would be so funny.  Since he didn’t join in on the laughter, Joe tried to stifle his own, even gnawing on his bottom lip - which only made the flush from the back of Nicky’s neck extend to his ears now, “I guess that’s fair - people probably make assumptions about you all the time.”<br/><br/>Oh yeah, <em> that </em> . <br/><br/>He glanced down, slightly embarrassed he hadn’t understood Joe’s quib before, and noticed the fancy patterns of his oxford shoes.  They looked polished and bright, compared to his plain black simple pair.  But it wasn’t till they moved, implying Joe was pushing off the pew and stepping closer to him, that Nicky raised his head.  There was still a good three feet between them, but now Nicky could count the freckles that peeked out from under his beard line, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject?”<br/><br/>Gah, if he was about to bring up the sex scandal of the Church, Nicky might just faint . . . not because he wasn’t prepared to address it, but that wasn’t really what he had been contemplating about.  He had people make assumptions about his sexuality all his life, and joining the seminary only seemed to add fuel to the fire.  Many men joined for their own reasons, but sometimes Nicky felt like people could see right through him.  And he feared Joe was no different - worse, maybe he was about to placate Nicky for staring at him so intently, “I - um no, it’s fine, I sometimes can’t read sarcasm so I just misunderstood you before, but I think that’s the bilingual brain.”<br/><br/>He did try to smile, but he was certain it was a weak effort at best.  </p>
<p>Luckily Joe did not press, and easily shifted the conversation.  Nicky was grateful that he seemed willing to lead it, because he was certain he was faltering at every turn, “Italian right?”<br/><br/>Nicky nodded, hating how thick his accent was even after moving to America as a teen.  But Joe had one, too, and just as before, Nicky wanted to know more, “Where is yours from?”<br/><br/>“Tunisia - moved here when I was a teenager,” he answered with confidence and charm, both of which Nicky lacked (or so he always felt).<br/><br/>“I moved here as a teen, too,” he strangely felt more at ease with that knowledge, sounding at least less nervous when he spoke again, “Did you have any culture shock?”<br/><br/>Joe smiled, and rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah.  <em> Big time </em> .  But it gets easier -”<br/><br/><em> Does it? </em> . . . Nicky wondered, though then again, Joe’s personality seemed bright, and cordial.  Nicky tended to cower in the background.  He cared about things, deeply, but sometimes struggled to get that point across.</p>
<p>And yet - Joe seemed to read his face fairly well, “Sorry, there I go making assumptions again - thinking everyone’s experience is just like mine.”  </p>
<p>But even his self defeating elaboration was spoken with a sense of bravado, though not in a self important way, just a sympathetic friendliness.  An openness, and empathy, that Nicky unconsciously took another step towards, “No apology necessary, truly.”  And then he found himself wanting to tell Joe something, too.  Share a little part of himself, after learning more about him . . . somehow feeling safe enough to do it, “I think I would struggle to fit in no matter which country I’m in.”</p>
<p>Joe tilted his head again, this time not hiding at all that he was examining him, and Nicky froze on the spot, unsure what to do under that penetrating gaze, “You do stand out, so I think I will have to agree with that statement.”<br/><br/>That flush now made its way to his cheeks, and surely Joe must have realized how it came across, because suddenly he was rubbing the back of his neck and looked away, “Sorry, I - I meant the fact that you walk around with that collar, didn’t mean to imply -”  And then he paused, his eyes shifting back to Nicky, “Actually, no, I feel bad for lying to a priest, well <em> deacon </em> - I forgot myself, and was giving you a compliment.  But I am sorry for it.”<br/><br/>Nicky turned slightly, willing his body not to react to such - <em> wait, was this flirting?  Or was Joe just this kind of charming with anybody? </em>   They’d only been talking for ten minutes - <em> this is ridiculous - get a grip, Di Genova.  Think, what did he come here for . . . information about the stained glass.  Just refocus, shift the conversation as easily as he did, you can do this. </em>   Turning back a little <em> too </em> swiftly, he probably looked utterly ridiculous with his pink cheeks, and wide eyes, and worse, the words tumbled out <em> far </em> too quickly, “It’s fine.  But you wanted to know more about the stained glass art, right?”<br/><br/>Joe, bless him, looked down at his sketchpad trying to hide the broad grin - like he found Nicky’s nervous reaction <em> adorable </em> , but didn’t want to upset his nerves further, “Yes, that would be great.”  He glanced back up, curious, “If you can spare the time, that is.  I don’t mean to keep you.”<br/><br/><em> Keep me. </em></p>
<p><em> Cazzo. </em><br/><br/>Nicky shook his head, both to say he wasn’t keeping him from anything, but also to get his body to refocus.  He raised his one hand from his side, and invited Joe to take a seat in the pew nearest to him, before kneeling and making the sign of the cross beside it, to join him.  They sat far too close together.  Enough that Nicky could smell the cologne he was wearing, and he nervously gripped his own knees, so he wouldn’t accidentally lean them closer to Joe’s, “So - how much do you want to know?”<br/><br/>Joe had already opened his sketchpad on his lap, and tapped his pencil on it once, “Everything.”<br/><br/>Nicky tried to get more comfortable in the wooden pew.  They were going to be here a while.<br/>And though it took a good half hour, by the time he had shared everything he knew about it - and repeated a few dates for Joe’s notes - the Church was almost dark with the sun having set a while back. <br/><br/>When it was all said and done, Joe flipped his notebook closed, and held it between his knees shaking his head, “I cannot thank you enough for this Nicky, this will be really great for my paper.”<br/><br/>Nicky, who by now had at least managed to even out his breathing, felt a bit more at ease and didn’t sound nearly as flustered as he had in the beginning.  Joe was easy to talk to it seemed, “That’s very kind, but really, most of it is in some brochures around here somewhere.”<br/><br/>Joe leaned back, practically slouching in the pew, and looked at Nicky with a slight inquisitive stare, “You have a tendency to sell yourself short, don’t you?”<br/><br/>“I’m supposed to practice humility at all times?” Nicky tried to laugh it off, but when Joe didn’t crack a smile for once, he let it die out, unsure what to say, “Sorry.”<br/><br/>Joe leaned his arm back, bent at the elbow, and glided his fingers over his beard, like he was thinking of something, and Nicky felt that same sort of flushed heat spread up his neck again, “So, let me get this straight - I’m late for the tour, but instead of telling me to come back, you offer to give me a personal one.”  Now he moved his hand in front of chest, beginning to count with his fingers, “Then, when I’m really not so much interested in the tour, but just this one stained glass window, you take the time to adjust it and help me with my paper.  <em> Then </em> , when I point out how much you have helped me here, you want to dismiss your efforts entirely?”<br/><br/>Nicky tucked his chin close to his chest, fairly uncertain what to say to Joe’s spot on assessment, but when he tried to apologize again - Joe wouldn’t even let him, “You don’t have to keep apologizing.  And hey, if you don’t want to accept my compliments, at least let me get you dinner.  As a thank you.”<br/><br/><em> Good God. </em><br/><br/>He should say <em> ‘no’ </em> , his mind screamed at him to say <em> ‘no’ </em> .  But his stomach grumbled and answered for him, and Joe shook his head, “Come on - at least let me do that <em> please </em> ?  I feel kind of bad here for keeping you after dark.”<br/><br/><em> Keep me.   </em></p>
<p>There it was again.  Just those two words that made him want to lean forward and - “I can’t.”<br/><br/>It was so quick, that had Nicky not been looking directly at him, he would have missed it - but for one brief moment, a sort of sadness passed over Joe’s face, and Nicky wanted to take it back.  Hated the idea of having caused it.  But he really couldn’t.  It <em> was </em> getting late, and he was expected back at seminary, and though yes, he <em> had </em> missed dinner - maybe it was a good thing.  He could offer up his hunger as penance for the thoughts of wanting to run his fingers through Joe’s curls . . .<br/><br/>“Maybe some other time?”<br/><br/>Nicky blushed a little, and before he could stop himself, he nodded in agreement.  This time Joe smiled, seemingly renewed by the simplest bit of approval from Nicky, “I was wondering if there’s a time I could come back here, and not really bother anyone - but I’d love to sit here and sketch the stained glass, too.  If that would be okay?”<br/><br/>He thought for a moment, around the mass schedules and the choir meets, before settling on a good compromise, “We have Adoration Hour once a week - Saturdays.  It’s from 6am to 6pm, and you can come anytime.  Everyone is silent, but a lot of people read, or write in journals, and I doubt anyone would mind you sketching quietly?”<br/><br/>Joe sat up a little straighter, already grateful, “What time will you be here for that?  We could go for lunch after?”<br/><br/><em> Lunch </em> , that seemed somehow safer than dinner, and Nicky thought back to his own schedule before agreeing, “If you wanted to sketch beforehand, I could do lunch around eleven, if that’s okay?”<br/><br/>He didn’t want to read too much into it, maybe it was just the way the candles in the corner flickered, but there was a sort of gleaming shimmer that washed over Joe’s eyes, “More than okay - I think it could really help with my dissertation.”<br/><br/><em> That’s right.  The paper </em> - the interfaith dialogue piece Joe was writing about.  </p>
<p>Somehow, the realization that he only meant to pick his brain about the subject hurt more than it should have.  In fact he <em> should </em> have been relieved that he hadn’t meant this as a date - and then Nicky sank further back in his pew . . . because, had he already agreed to it, when he <em> thought </em> Joe was asking him on a date?<br/><br/><em> Santa Maria Madre di Dio - </em><br/><br/>“Hey Nicky?” Joe’s hand was awfully close, almost touching Nicky’s shoulder, and he must have missed an earlier question, or else why would Joe be moving closer? “Everything okay?”<br/><br/>Nicky practically shot up out of his seat, and refused to look back at Joe, his eyes boring a hole into the hymnal, “ <em> Si </em> - I mean, yes, <em> grazie </em> .  I mean, <em> of course </em> .   I just -”  And then he turned, already walking towards the double doors and grateful his car keys were already in his pocket, “I just remembered I need to lock up the church now.”<br/><br/>Blissfully Joe didn’t press the issue of Nicky’s stammering, or slipping into Italian for a moment.  It was like his mind short circuited under the realizations and he desperately needed some space, and fresh air.  Even though Nicky didn’t look back, he could hear Joe’s shoes tapping on the stone floor behind him, and he pushed the heavy door open - allowing Joe to walk through first, before he followed behind him.</p>
<p>He still kept his head down, having forgotten his jacket inside, but <em> far </em> too embarrassed to admit that now with Joe standing so close to him.  When Nicky fumbled with the keys in between his fingers, he considered saying <em> something </em> , but was unsure of what.<br/><br/>Luckily Joe reached for his own keys, and twirled the keychain around his finger exactly once, before asking, “ <em> So </em> Saturday, eleven?”<br/><br/>Nicky managed at least a quick glance up, finding him just as striking in the harsh glare of the overhead door light, as he was before, “ <em> Right, </em> Saturday.”<br/><br/>Joe grinned making his way down the stone steps, before he turned back to him one last time, “ <em> Buona serata, </em> Nicky <em> .”   </em></p>
<p>Then he disappeared into the dark of the parking lot, and Nicky felt frozen in place, with only <em> one </em> thought shouting in his mind: <em> he speaks Italian? </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Six Weeks Later </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nicky would wake up early, do his Liturgy of Hours prayers, and take his tiny, unassuming, car to the small rural church in the countryside.  He would carefully remove the Host from the Tabernacle, place it in the monstrance and make his own adoration hour in the quietness of the sunrise.  There was something beautiful and peaceful about the way the colors would bleed into the nave, across the pews, and over the altar. <br/><br/>It seemed to be the only time he could feel peace lately.</p>
<p>Because sure enough, <em> every Saturday </em> for the last six weeks, there Joe was - sometimes quietly sketching in the back, and sometimes pulling up just before eleven and greeting Nicky with such warmth and charm that he almost sank into the passenger seat, willingly allowing Joe to take him to wherever he had wanted to go.</p>
<p>And they would sit in a park, sipping hot chocolate to stay warm - or sometimes head into a diner, where Joe insisted on paying for everything (until Nicky explained diocesan priests don’t make vows of poverty like religious ones, and he could afford his own coffee, <em> thank you very much </em> ).  Twice they had headed to a library, and poured over some books they had each recommended to one another, and unlike in his theology class where Nicky felt far too timid to speak up, he found it effortless to share about his faith with Joe.  And the first time he laughed around him, Joe teased it sounded <em> ‘nice’ </em> , and he hoped he’d <em> ‘do it more often’ </em> .  But the thing was, he felt relaxed enough around Joe <em> to </em> laugh - it felt easy to be in his presence.<br/><br/>In fact, almost everything felt easy with Joe.</p>
<p>And the feeling seemed to be mutual, because around the third time of conversing, Joe felt comfortable enough to ask him questions about the requirements of priests.  Of the expectations, and what exactly that meant for Nicky.  Normally, after sharing the date of his ordination, Nicky would often invite whoever he was talking to<em> to </em> it, but it felt strange to think of Joe being there when he took his vows. <br/><br/>And as much as he had hoped it would pass, the feelings he had been too afraid to sit with, pooled in the recesses of his mind.  Playing out in his dreams, and in quiet moments when he would sit by himself.  Dreams of laughing with Joe <em> outside </em> of weekly lunch meetings.  Of pouring over books together on a soft couch.  Moments of running his fingertips through the dark curls . . .<br/><br/>But he had caught a glance of the sketch last week - it stunned him to realize how accurate and detailed it was.  It only needed to be colored, but surely Joe could do that without needing to come to the church.  And Nicky realized that maybe he would stop coming soon.  That now that he had gotten what he needed, and surely six meetings later of discussions surrounding their faiths <em> had </em> to be enough to expand his dissertation, that Joe didn’t <em> need </em> to come back anymore.<br/><br/>So unlike before, when Nicky found himself looking forward to their lunches, he <em> dreaded </em> this one:  </p>
<p>Dreaded the possibility of bringing up that maybe Joe was done?  Maybe he wouldn’t come back again?  And worse, dreaded the <em> probability </em> of Joe asking him <em> why </em> that would bother him. </p>
<p>There were a <em> few </em> reasons for him not to become a priest: his leadership skills were subpar (at best), he didn’t seem to have the natural affection required of fathers, and he preferred the silence of the church in adoration hour over the trepidation of writing his own homilies.  He preferred to be in the background, not in front of the crowd.  Maybe he should have considered being a monk hidden away in a cell instead . . . But <em> none </em> of those reasons had really deterred him, or seemed to even matter before - </p>
<p><em> Before Joe. </em><br/><br/>Joe who came to America as a teenager.  Who had no siblings, but ten cousins.  Who joked about not being the “best Muslim representative” with his lack of prayer life, but then went on to talk about how meaningful <em> Maryam </em> was in his faith, that his whole face lit up.  But then again, he radiated tenderness, the kind Nicky felt himself inching closer towards every single week.<br/><br/>He truly knew he was in trouble, when he chose not to share how he was feeling with his spiritual director.  Not because he wanted to keep Joe a secret, but one, because Nicky feared the man might suggest severing ties with him to “protect your heart”, and two, suggesting his feelings were something to confess felt equally wrong.<br/><br/>Confession was for something you felt bad about, something you wanted to avoid doing again, something you felt sorry for - and Nicky felt none of those things when he thought of Joe.  He resented <em> himself </em> some days, but not Joe.  He <em> wanted </em> to keep him in his life.  He wanted to keep him <em> period </em> . <br/><br/>And as much as he dreaded the possibility of how the conversation might go, Nicky did need to know if there was something more to the way Joe’s eyes gleamed at him sometimes.<br/><br/>He kept himself busy till the hour was close, and then decided to head outside into the cold air with a large, puffy jacket that would hopefully help keep him warm enough.  The last thing he wanted to do was potentially make some sort of love confession in the middle of church - in front of parishioners.  Luckily though no one was there at the moment, and when Joe pulled up beside the church, Nicky felt even more grateful for the privacy.<br/><br/>He walked towards the side, close to the parking lot - but moved towards the very stained glass window Joe had been sketching.  It felt fitting to bring up Joe’s intentions near the very place they had first met.  Nicky kept his face down, hands shoved in his pockets, and little wisps of fog floated near his mouth from the cold air.  It was surely easy enough to pass his flushed face off as a side effect of the weather, and if Joe suspected what kind of conversation they were about to have, he didn’t seem to feel the need to address it first.  Casual as always, he walked right up to him, and Nicky almost went weak in the knees under that bright smile of his - the last thing he would want is to make Joe lose it with his words, but he <em> needed </em> to know, “Hi - ”<br/><br/>His voice cracked, and more than a little embarrassed he glanced down, and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to will himself to continue but the words felt trapped in his throat.  Worse, the things unspoken threatened to crush him internally and this time, irregardless of how strained his voice might be, Nicky tried again, “I was wondering if you had finished your drawing yet, it looked pretty much done last time.”<br/><br/>The words strung together a little, but at least his voice didn’t crack again.</p>
<p>Joe seemed to take a moment, as if he was thinking, and then quietly nodded, “Yes, I do think it’s done.”<br/><br/>Nicky had never heard Joe sound so <em> reserved </em>?  Melancholy?</p>
<p>It sounded both surprising coming from his usual happy demeanor, <em> and </em> gave Nicky some hope that maybe he was a little sad of the prospect of not coming back, too.  But still, he treaded carefully, “Did you color it, may I see it?”<br/><br/>Joe raised the pad between them, already opened to the page, and Nicky carefully took it from him.  He stared down at the talented likeness of the window behind him, taking in the beautiful shades of colors Joe had somehow matched perfectly.  He had thought it was a stunning piece of art beforehand, but now colored, it looked downright breathtaking.  So much so, it actually took Nicky a moment to gather his words.  Joe was an intelligent, charming, <em> and </em> talented man - and Nicky faltered, doubt and self consciousness seeping over his heart.  </p>
<p>Because a man like Joe could have anyone he’d want. <br/>Potentially waiting around for Nicky seemed counter productive to the picks he <em> could </em> have.  </p>
<p>For all he knew, though Joe had never mentioned anyone, maybe he already <em> was </em> with someone - maybe he saw their weekly lunch gatherings as nothing -<br/><br/><em> Stop going in circles. </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Just say it. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Ask him. </em>
</p>
<p>But Joe spoke first, “Do you like it?”</p>
<p>Nicky kept his head down, pretending he was looking at the drawing, and not nearly as overwhelmed as he probably seemed, “Very.”<br/><br/>“I drew - I drew something else, too,” he took a step closer, his hand raising to the pad, already picking up the paper by the corner, “If you’d like to see?”<br/><br/>Nicky still looked down, but nodded, unsure how to ask for what he really wanted and hoping the distraction of more sketches would help reset things in his mind -<br/><br/>Instead, when Joe flipped the page, Nicky’s eyes widened and he clutched the pad tightly as he stared down at images of <em> him </em>.  Five different poses dispersed throughout the page.  Details of Nicky’s profile, and the way his face looked reading a book.  The third one was of him sitting in the dining booth.  A fourth, of him standing near the altar, kneeling before the monstrance - there was even one of him sitting on the park bench they went to last week, looking out at the ice on the lake.</p>
<p>It was detailed, and beautiful - <em> and Joe drew me.  Me. </em></p>
<p>He was still processing it - still trying to find any other reason why Joe would have done this - besides the one his heart <em> hoped </em> for.  But he must have been silent for too long, because suddenly he saw Joe’s long fingers in his vision, trying to take the pad back.  He didn’t say anything though, he was silent, and Joe was never quiet . . .<br/><br/>Nicky surprised even himself when he quickly pulled it close to his chest.<br/>Clinging to it.  Clinging to the hope of what it <em> could </em> mean.  </p>
<p>Clinging for just even a moment - that Joe drew <em> him </em> , because he <em> wanted </em> to draw him.<br/><br/>Finally he raised his wide eyes towards Joe, who looked hopeful?, but Nicky’s struggle to say anything must have dampened it.  He glanced away as if embarrassed, before quietly (so <em> so </em> quietly), he spoke up, though barely above a whisper, “I - I know it can’t be.”</p>
<p><em> It could be - it could </em> , Nicky wanted to say, but instead, he felt his eyes watering at the realization that Joe felt it, too.  Joe <em> felt the same </em> , and maybe he was able to say more with his look than he ever could have had with his words.  Because when Joe stared at him, when he saw the way the wisps of fog in front of his mouth stuttered out, <em> and </em> the watery sheen over his eyes, something akin to hope lit up his dark eyes.<br/><br/>Tentatively, cautiously, Joe stepped even closer - and when Nicky didn’t recoil, when he continued to stare at him, he reached out.  Carefully gliding his fingertips over his white knuckles, before curving them around his wrist, “But - <em> if </em> there is a chance -”</p>
<p>Nicky felt like the air had been punched out of him, was this<em> really </em> happening?  <em> Was - could - Joe </em> . . . Joe wanted to talk about chances? <em>  One chance - with me. </em>   The pad literally vibrated against his jacket, and Joe looked down, his thumb rubbing over the thin skin of his inner wrist.  Surely he had to feel how high his pulse was thumping underneath that touch, “Your hands, they’re shaking -”<br/><br/>Nicky’s eyes felt heavy, because as much as he felt like he could jump out of his skin, he also felt like he wanted Joe’s hands on him.  Wanted his kind touch, wanted <em> him </em>.  </p>
<p>Joe gently pulled on his wrist, and Nicky easily let go of one side of the pad, allowing him to bring it closer to him, holding his hand between his two warm ones.  He raised Nicky’s fingers, barely peeking out from his big hands, close to his face and blew warm breath on them.  As if the fact that they were gloveless was the reason behind them trembling (and not Nicky’s heart flip flopping inside his chest).  Joe clutched his hand tighter, and Nicky realized his own pulse was going just as fast as his, “Even if nothing else happens after this moment, I just need to say it once, because I’d respect your final vows too much to say it after that - ”<br/><br/>And then he stopped, as if he was too emotional himself <em> to </em> say anything else.  </p>
<p>Nicky willed himself to part his lips, to assure Joe, to say <em> something </em>.</p>
<p>His mouth felt dry, but he mustered a quiet reply, “ . . . Say what exactly?”</p>
<p>Joe sighed, closing his eyes and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Nicky’s knuckles, “Please don’t make them.”<br/><br/>There was a short gasp, a hitch in Nicky’s throat, before he slammed his mouth shut, afraid and timid even now - even when Joe was <em> asking </em> him to reexamine what his future could look like. <br/>What <em> their </em> future could look like.<br/><br/>Joe clung to his hand, like Nicky had clung to his sketch pad.  The hope in the moment, but also the fear of what was around the corner - the potential denial.  And when his fingers flexed a little in his hold, Joe looked up, just enough for Nicky to spot tears in his eyes, too. <br/><br/>He pulled his hand out from his grip, and Joe watched amazed as Nicky raised his fingers to the edge of those crinkles, swiping at the tear that had managed to escape already.  He wanted to roam his touch to the curls, but chose to hold back for now, wanting to wait till he was fully free before moving forward.  But he could assure Joe in the moment.  That he <em> could </em> do.<br/><br/>He offered him a gentle smile, before pulling his hand back, “Okay.”</p>
<p>Joe looked downright shocked, “Okay?”<br/><br/>“Okay,” Nicky smiled a little more now, sounding far more confident in <em> this </em> decision than he had ever felt about any other.  It felt <em> right </em> . <br/><br/>Joe stepped a little closer, but held back - making no other move and Nicky was grateful for his understanding.  Of knowing that he would want to wait till he sorted out his withdrawal from seminary, before proceeding forward.  But he also didn’t want to deny himself a hug - a genuine hug, where he could press his cold cheek on Joe’s warm jacket.  He leaned forward slowly, not stopping till his face was settled against the edge of his collar.  He looked over his shoulder, down at the cold patches of snow on the hard ground, but he didn’t feel cold anymore. <br/><br/>And when Joe slowly wrapped his arms around his shoulders, Nicky closed his eyes and relished in the warmth for a little while longer.<br/><br/>He knew not everyone would agree, he understood exactly what he was about to give up - but as much as Nicky still believed the Sacrament of the Eucharist was a little taste of Heaven - being in Joe’s loving embrace, felt like a little piece of Heaven, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I chose to make Nicky a seminarian deacon, just a few months shy of his ordination, because I felt like that was less angst than a priest leaving the priesthood.  It happens, don’t get me wrong!  But it’s far easier, and less complicated before ordination, and honestly, most church authorities would rather you figure out the priesthood isn’t for you before you become ordained.  Many many many men go into seminary, and only a few actually become priests.  Also, I really really really wanted to explore Joe as someone who was both charming, and yes, flirtatious, but respectful, too.  Like he was going to speak up, but only before his ordination because that’s how much he would have respected Nicky’s decision to move forward.  I really believe Canon Joe would have done the same thing, until Nicky decided for himself what he wanted.  So this is a little nod to that mutual respect that I think this beautiful interfaith couple represents :)</p>
<p>Thank you to the mods for hosting this gift exchange - and happy holidays to all the readers, but especially Miss Ame (hope you liked this!)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>